


run like a rabbit, bloom like a rose

by grimm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Full Moon, Full Shift, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimm/pseuds/grimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a break in the trees ahead; Stiles bursts out into a clearing, bathed silver in the moonlight. It’s no relief, the land unfamiliar. He keeps running, and gets halfway across the clearing before teeth grab at his ankle, pulling him off his feet. Stiles hits the ground again, what little breath he has left gusting from his lungs, and manages to scramble onto his back, giving himself his first good look at the beast chasing him. He stills, eyes widening at the sight of the coyote, tawny fur dyed warm gray.</p><p>“You <i>brat,”</i> he breathes, shaking with relief, and the coyote’s mouth drops open like it’s laughing, tongue lolling across its sharp white teeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	run like a rabbit, bloom like a rose

**Author's Note:**

> For Stalia week. An idea I thought of a couple months back.

It’s dark out by the time Stiles gets out of lacrosse practice, the sun long dipped past the horizon, air cold as they head into the last weeks of November. He shivers a little as he steps out of the school and into the chilly night air, body no longer steaming with warmth as it had been out on the field. He can see his breath as he heads toward the parking lot, pulling out his phone as he goes.

It’s the full moon tonight, and practice was rough; Liam’s still struggling with control, even though he’s gotten much better at it, and Stiles and Scott and Kira spent most of practice reining him in, giving him the security of pack. It’s Malia he’s worried about now; she got control of the shift months ago but she was acting weird all day; she snapped at Lydia — like, literally snapped her teeth, eyes flashing blue — when Lydia gently suggested she needed to study a bit more after getting a C- on her chemistry test, and she’d skittered aside with a growl when he’d tried to kiss her that morning. Something’s up.

Malia doesn’t answer the phone — she rarely does, even for him — so he sighs and leaves a message, pinning his phone between his ear and shoulder as he tries to unlock the jeep without having to put down his gym bag. “Hey, I just got out of practice. Did you still want to come over tonight? Just text me or something.”

He hangs up and tosses his phone on the passenger’s seat, then chucks his gym bag into the back. Stiles takes a moment to just sit, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair; he hadn’t showered after practice ended because he wasn’t sure if Malia was going to come over or not. She’s got this thing about smelling him, and she really seems to like it when he’s sweaty, especially after sex when they’re _both_ covered in sweat, so he hadn’t showered tonight because it seemed like, oh, he doesn’t know — like a treat for her or something. It’s just uncomfortable now though, his clothes damp and his skin sticky. Stiles sighs and turns the key in the ignition.

It won’t start.

Stiles frowns and tries again, but the engine refuses to turn over. He swears and climbs out of the jeep, fishing around under the front seat until he finds a flashlight, then swings around to the front and opens the hood. He curses again. The battery’s gone. Not dead — _gone,_ the space where it used to sit dark and empty.

“What the _fuck,”_ Stiles says angrily. Is this some kind of prank? He swings his head around, waiting for someone to start laughing, but the parking lot’s deserted, the rest of his teammates long gone. He drops to his knees, peering under the jeep in case, by some miracle, the battery just fell out and landed under there somehow, but the only thing he sees is a flattened McDonald’s bag. “Fuck,” he says again, with a lot of feeling.

Stiles climbs back into the jeep and calls Scott, but he doesn’t pick up and Stiles belatedly remembers that he was going over to Kira’s for dinner with her parents. Malia doesn’t have a car, and Lydia said something about going to the lake house with her mom. Derek’s out of town with Braeden, and Liam doesn’t have his license. Stiles scowls. What’s the point of being in a pack if none of them are around? He swears again and calls his dad, who sighs when he picks up.

“I’m on a call, Stiles,” he says, when Stiles tells him what’s happened. “I can’t leave.”

“Oh?” Stiles says, curiosity momentarily overpowering his annoyance. “Supernatural or — ”

“Minor traffic accident,” Dad sighs. “I can put out a call and see if anyone’s in the area who can come pick you up, if you want.”

“Don’t bother,” Stiles says, his shoulders slumping. With his luck, it’d be Parrish, and he’s sick of getting the third degree about the supernatural world from him. “I’ll just walk.” He and Scott had done it a thousand times before they were old enough to drive, walking the well-beaten path through the woods behind the school.

“All right,” Dad says mildly. “I’ll see you at home later.”

Stiles hangs up and grabs his backpack from the back, leaving his gym bag behind — he won’t need it until tomorrow anyway. He keeps hold of his flashlight as he trots across the parking lot and around the edge of the lacrosse field. It’s a little worrying that he doesn’t know who — or what — took his battery, but he’s not super concerned. The town’s been quiet since they took care of the nemeton, and he can handle himself. If he was really worried, he would have said yes to his dad’s offer, or would have taken the long route back home, via the roads, lit bright by the streetlights.

It doesn’t take long before he’s left the lights of the school behind him and he’s alone in the woods. It’s very dark, no moonlight filtering down through the trees, and the light from his flashlight makes long shadows that leap around with every step he takes. It’s…okay, so it’s a little different, being out here alone at night, than it is walking it with Scott during the day. Stiles pauses when he hears a noise behind him, swinging the light of the flashlight around behind him. There’s nothing to see, but he walks a little faster, heart rate increasing just a tick. He tries calling Malia again, but she still doesn’t pick up.

There’s a shuffling off in the woods to his right and Stiles spins, aiming his flashlight in that direction and again there’s nothing. “Okay,” he mutters. “It’s fine. It’s just a raccoon or something.” He starts walking again and it’s walking, okay, not jogging. This is a calm, leisurely — something moves at the edge of his pool of light, something dark and low to the ground that slips from tree to tree — and this, _this_ is a jog. His heart’s beating fast in his chest now, but he concentrates on moving, breathing deep, and does his best to ignore the way his skin’s crawling.

Whatever it is is keeping pace with him, crashing through the woods next to him maybe five yards off the path. He keeps getting skin-crawling glimpses of it, yellow eyes flatly reflecting the light from his flashlight. At one point, the path splits, and Stiles swerves to take the path that will take him to the nearest road, back to the safety of humanity and orange pools of light from streetlamps, but the thing snarls, much closer than before, and Stiles jerks back onto the path that stays in the woods. His chest hurts from running — this path is so much longer than he ever remembers it being, _Jesus —_ and he’s prickling with sweat all over, his already damp shirt clinging to him.

Stiles tries to call Scott but running and flicking through his contacts is more multitasking than he can handle and he trips over a tree root. Stiles hits the ground hard, somehow managing to keep hold of his phone, but his flashlight hits the ground and goes out. He hears it go rolling into the undergrowth and scrambles after it frantically, but even as he’s shoving his hand through the leaves, there’s a low growl from just a few feet away. Stiles freezes with his arm outstretched, blinking sweat from his eyes. It growls again and Stiles thinks _fuck the flashlight._ He’s moving before he even realizes it, moving as fast as he can with no light to see by. The beast in the wood drives him like a sheepdog, snapping at his heels, driving him off the path and deeper into the trees. Stiles knows it’s happening but he goes where he’s forced because what else can he _do?_ He’s got no weapons on him — belatedly curses himself for not grabbing his lacrosse stick.

There’s a break in the trees ahead; Stiles bursts out into a clearing, bathed silver in the moonlight. It’s no relief, the land unfamiliar. He keeps running, and gets halfway across the clearing before teeth grab at his ankle, pulling him off his feet. Stiles hits the ground again, what little breath he has left gusting from his lungs, and manages to scramble onto his back, giving himself his first good look at the beast chasing him. He stills, eyes widening at the sight of the coyote, tawny fur dyed warm gray.

“You _brat,”_ he breathes, shaking with relief, and the coyote’s mouth drops open like it’s laughing, tongue lolling across its sharp white teeth. Stiles shrugs off his backpack and collapses against the grass, cold blades prickling against his shoulders as he sucks in air and tries to get his body under some semblance of control. There’s some vaguely organic noises coming from beyond his field of vision, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the starry sky; Malia doesn’t like people seeing her shift. He only lifts his head when she settles across his thighs, fully human.

“You think you’re really funny, don’t you?” Stiles says accusingly, raising himself onto his elbows. Malia lifts her eyebrows innocently. “What’d you do with my battery?”

“It’s in my locker,” she says unconcernedly. She seems unperturbed by the fact that she’s naked, nipples peaking in the cold air. The earth at his back is sucking the warmth out of Stiles but when he puts his hands on Malia’s hips she’s blazing hot, life pulsing under her skin. A smile curves her mouth as she tugs him upright by his shirt. “Caught you,” she murmurs, breath warm against Stiles’ clammy face.

“Wish I’d had some warning the chase was happening,” Stiles says moodily, hands sliding over the curve of her ass. Malia smiles, something feral in her expression, shifting forward so her weight’s settled right over his groin. Stiles makes a soft noise, far from a complaint, hands tensing against her warm skin. His body’s still thrumming with adrenaline, but it’s downshifting from fear-driven to something more primal and far, far more enjoyable.

Malia’s smile widens. “Thought so,” she says, and dips in for a bruising kiss, mouth rough and demanding. She cups his face in her hands, thumbs pressing at the hinge of his jaw until he opens his mouth for her.

This — this is what Stiles loves about Malia. She is unapologetically fierce, embracing her animal side unabashedly. Only she’d chase him through the woods without a second thought — only she would sit here now, naked and unconcerned, bathed in moonlight. And Stiles may never be able to truly empathize with how the moon pulls at the wildness inside her, but he gets it; fear aside, the chase was thrilling, and the reward…well. He’d do it again if she asked, though she probably wouldn’t; it’d just _happen_ , like tonight had just happened. Stiles doesn’t mind. Malia just _does_ sometimes. It keeps things interesting.

Malia tugs on his hair, signalling he’s losing focus. Stiles bites back a grin and tilts his chin up at her, heat licking down his spine at the way her eyes flash blue. She growls low in her throat — Stiles can feel it buzz in his breastbone — and tucks her head in close, drawing her nose up his neck, tongue flashing out to lick the sweat from his skin. Stiles hums encouragingly, pressing his cheek to her hair as he draws a hand up her stomach, dragging his fingernails against her skin. He swears when she bites down on his throat with blunt human teeth, gets her back by rubbing his thumb over one of her stiff nipples, squeezing lightly at the swell of her breast.

Malia gasps, a wholly human noise, though her nails feel long where they’re curled at the base of his neck. She pulls away from his throat and ducks back in for a rough kiss, teeth tugging at his lip before sweeping her tongue into his mouth. She’s got her whole body pressed against his, blazing with heat, grinding down against him in sharp, hurried rolls of her hips, panting raggedly against his mouth.

“Hey, hey,” Stiles murmurs soothingly, slipping his hand between them and into to the slick heat between Malia’s thighs. She’s soaking wet with want, sending him shuddering at how good she feels, rubbing two fingers at her clit. Malia keens, arching her back, fingers digging into Stiles’ shoulders as she rides his hand. He keeps his eyes on her face, breathing hard through his mouth, almost drunk off the expression of bliss and lust on her face. Her eyes burn blue when she comes, thighs shaking, what are definitely claws pricking through Stiles’ hoodie, and his dick pulses in his pants, hard and aching.

He pulls his hand away slowly, eyes still on Malia’s face as he licks his fingers, gut clenching at the taste of her. Malia straightens, chest still heaving, eyes still glowing blue, and growls, _“Again,”_ her slender fingers scrabbling at his belt.

Stiles groans, catching her by the wrist. “I don’t have any condoms,” he admits regretfully. Malia just grins predatorily and leans over to his backpack. She digs around in the front pocket for a moment before returning triumphant with a foil square. Stiles is highly impressed. “Did you stash that there just for this?” Malia grins with all her teeth, swiftly unbuckling his belt and shoving his pants down his hips. Stiles hisses when she gets her hand around his dick, pulling him out into the cool night air. He has to press his forehead to her shoulder as she rolls on the condom, then lifts her hips and sinks down on top of him in one quick, impatient movement.

 _“Fuck,”_ Stiles groans. “Malia — “

She makes a feral noise, something between a snarl and a growl, and bites down on his shoulder, riding him hard and fast. It’s all Stiles can do to brace himself on one arm, can’t even fuck up against her because she’s got her knees clamped around his hips. He’s sweating again, uncomfortably warm now, panting open-mouthed against her temple. Malia’s getting frustrated, one hand fisted in his hair, the other braced against his shoulder as she works herself up and down his cock, angry, subvocal sounds slipping between her lips as she chases her release.

Stiles tries to help her; he uses the hand he’s not supporting himself with to rub at her clit, but she snarls and shoves at his shoulders, pushing him to the ground. It’s better this way. Stiles doesn’t have to support himself; he can put his hands on Malia’s hips and cant up into her as she grinds down, her whole body hunched over him, her forearms caging his head.

“Come on,” Stiles pants, fingers digging into her skin, blunt fingernails leaving shallow half-moon impressions on her hips. “Come on, fuck — “

Malia makes a broken, desperate sort of noise and shuts him up with a frantic kiss, slamming her body down to meet the rise of his hips. He kisses her back wildly, open-mouthed and wet, fucking up into her as hard as he can. He’s close, so fucking close, and so is she — Stiles can tell by the way she’s starting to shake, the frantic hitch of her breath. He gets a hand between them again, and this time she doesn’t shove him away, but throws her head back with a wail that echoes through the trees, body tightening on the wave of her orgasm. Stiles curses as her body clamps down around him, hips jolting up one last time before his own orgasm slams into him like a freight train, back arching off the ground as he empties himself into the condom.

Malia leans back to look at him as they catch their breaths, his dick still inside her. She looks utterly satisfied, running a lazy hand down her stomach. Stiles catches her hand, threading their fingers together.

“Seriously, though,” he says, grinning faintly. “Give a guy some warning next time.”

Malia tilts her chin up like she’s thinking about it. “No,” she decides, and gives him a satisfied smirk. “And next time, you’ll be naked.”

Stiles snorts. “How are you going to manage that?”

Malia grins and leans forward, her hair falling around them like a curtain. Stiles puts his hands back on her waist, thumbs pressed against the jut of her hipbones. “I’ll find a way,” she says lightly, dangerously, and the terrifying, amazing thing is...Stiles knows she will.


End file.
